Three Quarters of a Rebel
by C. S. Hazel
Summary: Prim and Gale are chosen as tributes for the Quarter Quell, and Katniss and Peeta mentors. When Peeta and Haymitch come up with a lurid plan, Katniss must go along with it to save her sister and friend.


I'm onscreen, wearing those gorgeous dresses, swathed in ivory satin. "You look so beautiful," Prim gushes. But she's wrong. I'm not beautiful. The gowns Cinna designed are beautiful.

Several minutes later, the program's over but I'm still in disbelief over the fact that I have to marry Peeta. Like Haymitch said, I could do a lot worse. But...I don't want to marry. Not anyone. Not ever. If I was forced to marry, well, Peeta would probably be one of my top choices—but where does he stand in my heart, compared to Gale? I can't think about, so I direct my attention back to the small television screen.

President Snow is announcing the Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years, a special Hunger Games is created. The Quell that marked the 25th anniversary had districts vote on tributes. The Quell that marked the 50th anniversary had double the number of tributes—that was the year Haymitch was crowned victor.

A young boy steps up with a wooden box, decorated with rubies encrusted on the top. President Snow opens it up, and inside is fifty or so yellowed envelopes. He picks one with _75 _written on it, and begins to read. "_To show that even the strongest cannot protect all their loved ones, the tributes will be reaped from a pool of the victors' friends and families."_

I'm frozen, staring at the television, which now shows the banner of Panem. Prim inhales a deep breath. My mother puts down the cleaning rag and sits down slowly, her blue eyes blank.

"What—What does that mean?" I ask the lamp. But I know already. My sister. My mother. Gale. They are in the reaping pool this year. And the odds are _not _in their favor.

When I get to Haymitch's house, Peeta's already there. "Look who finally arrived," Haymitch says, waving a half-empty bottle of liquor at me.

"Prim and my mother," I say desperately, deciding to leave out Gale for the sake of Peeta.

"Well, I have no problem with it," Haymitch says, leaning back in his chair. "I have no loved ones left."

"Well, we do," Peeta snaps. "My family and friends are in danger."

Haymitch eyes us. "Neither of you heard the second part of the Quell, did you?"

We stare at him. "Second part?" I ask.

"_If there are enough candidates for tribute who are of the ages twelve through eighteen, they will be chosen before the candidates for tribute younger or older than the numbers given."_

"What does that mean?" I demand, my mind foggy.

"It means, sweetheart," he says, "that all of your friends and family who are between the ages of twelve and eighteen will be reaped first before the others."

"I don't have any family that young," Peeta says, rubbing his arm. "One of my brothers' is nineteen, though. And plenty of my friends are seventeen or eighteen."

"Prim is thirteen, and Gale is eighteen," I say testily, glaring at Haymitch. I realize what this means. Prim will be the only candidate in the female tribute pool. Prim is going to the Hunger Games, and I can't volunteer for her this time.

"Katniss—" Peeta begins, but I ignore him.

I barge out the door and run through the wet snow, my leather boots slapping through the slush. _This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening to me._

"Katniss—" But this time it's a different voice, deeper and more masculine. Gale.

"You know you're a candidate for the male tribute for the Hunger Games this year," I growl, even though I know it's not fair to transfer my anger to him.

"Yes, the odds aren't in my favor," he says wearily, scratching the dark stubble on his chin. "Peeta has, what, three friends whom he's close enough to that they'll put them in the pool?"

"How would you know?" I ask, suspicious.

"I've been watching him a lot since you two got back from the Games," he says stonily. I don't ask why, because I'm afraid we both know the answer to that question.

"Maybe one of them will volunteer for you if you're chosen," I say hopefully. He snorts.

"Yes, and perhaps Effie Trinket will gain ten pounds and begin toting her natural hair color."

I'm silent, because of course that's impossible.

It's the day of the reaping. I've told Prim and Gale all I could remember about the arena and how to stay alive. I taught Prim some basic shooting and combat, and while she's not fabulous at it, it'll have to do.

"Isn't it exciting?" Effie Trinket squeals. Her hair is orange this year, and she fluffs it up even more. "Ladies first!" She spends several minutes using her three-inch long red nails to claw around for the name inside the reaping ball, but we already know whose name is on it. "Primrose Everdeen!"

Prim steps up, her fists clenched. My mother's face is white, and while I prepared her for this moment, she sobs quietly.

Effie puts her hand in the male reaping ball. She unfolds the name and reads it out loud. "Gale Hawthorn!"

_No, no, no! _I imagine a world where both Gale and Prim's voices have ceased, and find that I cannot.

Someone tugs on my arm. I turn and find that it's a Peacekeeper. "What do you want?" I ask harshly, jerking my arm away.

"Have you forgotten? You're mentoring the District 12 tributes this year," he says, dragging me towards the Justice Building.


End file.
